


wonder more, want more than we did before

by parishilton



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Infidelity, Female pronouns, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Pining, Sexless Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parishilton/pseuds/parishilton
Summary: “i don’t know what’s the worst thing about kissing you,” trixie starts with a dignified sort of reluctance,  like she’s too polite to decline, but not too polite to remind you of how lucky you are that she puts up with your, well, “your tongue, dry mouth, your beard, your red lipstick, your smoker breath, or your attitude,” she finishes, giving every reason in the world she would have to decline, all while simultaneously leaning forward to meet katya’s lips, so she must be in a charitable mood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> way out / yeah yeah yeahs.  
> drag names and female pronouns used throughout so name mix-ups don't happen. canon compliant up until the end.

“i don’t know what’s the worst thing about kissing you,” trixie starts with a dignified sort of reluctance, like she’s too polite to decline, but still not too polite to remind you of how lucky you are that she puts up with your, well, “your tongue, dry mouth, your beard, your red lipstick, your smoker breath, or your attitude,” she finishes, giving every reason in the world she would have to decline, all while simultaneously leaning forward to meet katya’s lips, so she must be in a charitable mood.

katya _knows_ how lucky she is. if she could measure the amount of luck in wig-weight she’s had in her life - not only because of the amount of times she could have died from her addiction problems and didn't, but maybe more importantly, because meeting trixie has improved her quality of life to an immense degree - then the amount of luck she’d be measuring would weigh more than the combined weight of the seven blonde wigs trixie pinned together last year for dragcon that gave her such a migraine that she’d puked backstage, and katya had nonchalantly wiped away the vomit from trixie’s chin with her thumb, not realizing how it’d disgust all the sound guys. she wouldn't expect anyone to understand, though. trixie's vomit has to be more sanitary than anyone else's that katya has ever seen. it's probably eighty-percent mac glitter pigments from her own makeup supply and twenty-percent broken guitar strings. 

katya wonders what their editors ron and chris think about this, wonders what two straight men think about trixie’s bullet-pointed list of reasons why kissing katya might not be on her itinerary. trixie’s list is an admission of several private, personal things that katya is sure any normal person would not want the public to know about, yet she finds she doesn’t really care. more than that, it's an admission that trixie is familiar enough with kissing katya to have catalogued every single detail of what it's _like_ to kiss her. katya doesn't especially want to know _why_ that is, because she wouldn't want to get her hopes up, in the event trixie is perhaps cataloguing every detail of what being kissed by katya is like in order to write a twangy, country-comedy song for her upcoming album, entirely based on katya giving trixie painful beard burn and exposing her to secondhand smoke. 

for trixie to be able to rattle off so many precise details of what it's like kissing katya, at a moment's notice no less, well, one might assume trixie must get coerced into kissing katya on a pretty regular basis. it's a monument to how persistent katya is, her one-track mind when it comes to getting what she wants, which is trixie, and it speaks of the way her entire life revolves around trixie’s opinion of her.

trixie expresses herself so articulately, lists and observations that would take katya hours to come up with rolling off of trixie’s tongue effortlessly every time she opens her mouth. katya’s mind is always scattered, sometimes sluggish, and never focused on the task at hand. trixie glides katya through topics with the practiced expertise of someone habitually used to doing so.

katya’s request to have trixie _give her a small kiss_ is not a product of katya trying to pander to their audience. she asks trixie to kiss her when trixie is getting out of their uber, when katya knows she isn't going to see her for months while katya is on tour, when trixie is in boy clothes, and after they've fought over who is going to pay for their uber. she doesn’t just ask trixie to kiss her because they're on camera. she doesn't just ask for a kiss when they’re in full day-drag, when trixie is sitting beside her in a fluorescent pink nightie, white fishnet tights, and with several pearl necklaces on, looking like a virginal aristocratic teenage girl going to bed with her husband for the first time ever, on the night of their wedding, to pop her cherry. katya doesn’t just ask trixie to kiss her when katya knows trixie will be flustered if katya asks while she has one hand resting on trixie’s knee, fingers slipping through the holes in the fishnets. so, she likes catching trixie off guard, breaking the normalcy of their platonic interactions slowly and in such a microscopic way that trixie will be left wondering whether or not katya is aware of what she’s doing.

there are many things katya is unaware of, beginning with the technicalities of how laser hair removal works, and ending with how it is that katya gets more drag gigs after losing than the past winners have after winning, but one thing she’s not unaware of is the fact that she can’t keep her hands off of trixie, and she doesn’t see why she should have to. trixie is _her’s_ because who else could say they worship trixie as much as she does? god, she’s so fucking obvious. katya gets on a stage somewhere in san francisco and says, _“_ she’s _the one i think of when i get out of bed in the morning and i go ‘whyyy?’ and then i think of her-”_ katya pauses and puts on her ditzy, privileged white teenage girl voice she copied from trixie, _“-and i’m like ‘why_ not _??? ”_

* * *

being on tour without trixie makes katya very keenly aware of how often they facetime, text, and call, because the second they go abroad, she can no longer contact trixie in any of those ways. it's almost as bad as if you were, say, a budding scientist tasked with finding sentient alien life in space, but your project gets defunded. needless to say, katya doesn’t enjoy waking up on tour with the realization that they’re in different time zones and she can’t talk to trixie. after nearly three weeks of miserable morning breakfasts with the other queens, katya grunting in favor of verbalizing real responses to anyone, and acting like everyone she’s on tour with is trying to purposefully sabotage her happiness, they’re back in los angeles, and so is trixie.

“no money is worth listening to ginger telling everyone within earshot that she's my best friend, hearing that detox has been trying to read your makeup behind my back, and sharon bragging about her man twenty-four-fucking-seven.” katya manages not to forget to grab her wallet with her cash in it that she’ll need to pay for breakfast with downstairs. she locks the door on the way out, so nobody can get in and steal all of the grandmotherly peasant dresses that probably in reality nobody is interested in having, and makes her way to the elevator.

“oh my _god!_ " trixie screeches. “she has no shame! ginger is not allowed to claim you as her’s just because i’m not on the road! i will get in an uber right now and come fight her.”

katya giggles as she presses the button to open the elevator doors. “what do you think about detox?”

"i _don't_ think about detox," trixie says very plainly, as if it were obvious.

" _tracy_ ," katya squawks unintelligibly.

“ _fine_ ," trixie says, with a sigh. "detox,” she begins in her monotone rupaul impersonation voice, “in your head, your asymmetrical eighties wigs serve david bowie, but on the runway, your look was... just phony.”

katya is laughing as the elevator door opens, the muscles in her mouth straining from smiling more in this five minute conversation than three weeks into this tour. “okay, tell me all about the recap this week,” she says, referring to trixie’s american horror story web-series. the elevator door slides closed and katya’s finger is hovering over the ground floor button when the doors slide back open.

“well, lady gaga wasn’t even in the episode for the first forty minutes-”

michelle visage walks into the elevator, black sunglasses on even though the lighting down the hallway and into the elevator is dim, her black boots click-clacking harshly on the tile. she cringes as if the noise is painful to her own ears. “god, i need a mimosa,” she declares, either to herself or to katya, which katya can’t say for sure, because she can’t tell if michelle is looking at her or not from behind her sunglasses.

trixie is still rambling on about a continuity issue in american horror story that katya wouldn’t have the slightest idea about. katya clears her throat and puts on her maureen voice. “who cares about that? mother...the blood has flowed straight into my willy-whipper from hearing your nubile, titillating voice. what are you wearing?” katya asks sleazily, in the way a sixty-year-old man would ask a phone sex hotline operator, instead of saying _hello_.

michelle must hear trixie’s cackling through the phone because she seems to be smirking to herself. “oh, just, like,” trixie says in _her_ ditzy, privileged white teenager girl voice, which is ten times better than katya’s, because that's part of her schtick, anyway. “my _abercrombie_ jeans that make my butt look really good and my furry _ugg_ boots that were made by slaughtering tiny, defenseless animals. do you like that, baby?” she moans artificially, and katya can’t stop laughing.

katya tells trixie she’ll call her back later when michelle visage isn’t looking at her like she’s going to beat katya’s head in with her purse for being so loud when she’s clearly hungover. katya is suddenly feeling downright peppy, so much so that she’s bouncing up and down on the heels of her feet with a renewed sense of energy and zest for life, without even one sip of _red bull_.

michelle stares at her analytically. “you needed two red bulls yesterday just to get out of bed.”

“thank you?” katya says, too cheerful to be insulted.

“and now, you’re quivering like you just snorted a line of coke.”

katya grins. “are you saying i’m kesha and trixie’s love is my drug?”

it’s not the first time such a thought has occurred to her, though she’s never stopped to think there’s no actual difference between not being able to get out of bed because she’s out of _drugs_ and not being able to get out of bed because she can’t talk to _trixie_. trixie withdrawals are a lot different from drug withdrawals, though. trixie withdrawals just makes her want to listen to _the spice girls_ and reminisce about their performances together, they don’t make her want to jab a rusty fork into her eye and kill herself because the pain is too unbearable. katya has an addictive personality, she has a total pleasure-motivated mindset, but being addicted to something so _safe_ is the smartest thing katya has ever done to herself.

michelle hums meaningfully like she has something else to say, but doesn’t want to say it.

“fine, i admit it,” katya declares. “i _am_ addicted to trixie, but being addicted to trixie is like being addicted to cotton candy. it’s sugary and sweet, and isn’t going to kill you.”

“so are cosmopolitans, but they can still give you alcohol poisoning,” michelle surmises.

katya is so fucked.

* * *

trixie is a good girl, and katya doesn’t feel like she deserves her. trixie is from a small town, has had steady boyfriends instead of one night stands, and obviously has never done meth. well, not that all that's required to meet the criteria of being a good girl is never having taken meth, because that would be a low bar to set, probably.

she calls trixie an “old-fashioned romantic” on _hey qween_ and is completely sincere about it. she knows that trixie doesn’t believe katya is capable of giving her what she needs, that being monogamy. it’s not that katya is morally opposed to the idea of monogamy - she’s just predisposed to believing it doesn’t work nine times out of ten, but _god_ , what makes trixie thinks katya wouldn’t do it for her? after season seven, they asked her which queen from her season she would date, and she knew the answer unequivocally would be _trixie_ , no matter how many seasons or how many other men were at stake. it would _always_ be trixie. _“the one girl from my season that i would date long term: trixie mattel.”_ she meant it then before she knew trixie inside and out like she does now, and she means it even more now.

trixie begins dating someone new, and it seems to get serious quickly, and katya's soul seems to wither and die, independently, of course, around the same time. trixie is an intensely private person, just like katya, and has difficulties opening up to new people, so whether it’s out of fear that her boyfriend will respond poorly to her concerns, or because trixie doesn’t quite know how to go from _katya_ being the one person she tells everything to, to telling everything to a guy she’s only known for few short months, she brings her relationship problems to _katya_ , instead of the boyfriend. if any other friend trusted katya enough to tell her these things, katya would be flattered. she tries to be flattered that trixie trusts her to a fault, but mostly she’s jealous, and tries to not suggest trixie breaking up with him as the first option every time trixie’s boyfriend moves too fast and says he wants a key to trixie’s place or wants her to spend the weekend at his parents’.

“so, where’s lucy?” alaska croaks out in her vocally-fried frog’s voice, one night when alaska agrees to come over after katya gets back from one of her gigs. “i know i’m the second-ranking on your list.”

“who the hell is lucy?” katya asks, shedding her sophisticated street-chic, womanly red blazer, and the rest of her ensemble, until she’s left standing in front of alaska in her black underwear, black bra, and a black russian muff hat. she never really has been one for modesty.

“trixie is lucy and you’re ricky,” alaska says, “you have a sexless marriage. you sleep in separate beds, but you’re still emotionally intimate, and joined at the hip.” alaska shakes her head ever so slightly. “that would never happen to me,” she croaks, “because _i_ value blowjobs too much.”

katya remembers watching reruns of _i love lucy_ when she was a kid. she remembers how fond lucy and ricky were of each, yet they barely kissed, and they had two twin-sized beds in their bedroom, which they split, instead of sharing one. in the fifties, showing a married couple in bed together would have caused a national scandal. a _sexless marriage_ , katya thinks, that’s _exactly_ what they have.

“lasky, i’m so lonely,” katya admits, slumping down into her dining room chair across from alaska, her long legs brushing against alaska’s. “i want a boyfriend too.”

alaska chuckles throatily. “i love you, but don’t look at me, girl.”

* * *

“no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” katya rambles in exasperation. “it’s a mental connection, a mental intimacy. sometimes it’s like we share a brain!”

kim nods with a blank expression. she looks katya’s body up and down, silently judging her choice of a matronly dress that looked like if you shook it hard enough, moth balls would fly out of the neckline, arm holes, and hemline. “yes, that would explain a lot of things,” she says dryly.

trixie bends over on herself and howls with laughter. “oh my god.”

“don’t laugh!” katya shouts, slapping trixie’s knee. “you should be telling her you’re the only one who gets to read me!”

“i don’t have to read you, katya. you’re like an audiobook,” trixie says, and watches the way katya’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “you read yourself.”

katya begins chuckling heartily, going silent as she continues to shake with wracks of laughter. “stop!”

“i hate being third wheel,” kim says while making eye contact with her hands, which are folded neatly on her own nap, “if god wanted me to be third wheel, he wouldn’t have made me so beautiful.”

“if god wanted you to _not_ be a third wheel, he would have given you a boyfriend, like me,” trixie says, looking surprised that kim feels like the third wheel, albeit not very apologetic about it. she then attempts to flip her stiff wig over her shoulder like an actress in a shampoo commercial. instead, she just looks like she has a nervous tic of swaying her shoulders aggressively back and forth.

truthfully, her boyfriend was physically her type, yet something crucial seemed to be missing. his looks didn’t quite make her knees shake with want, but she _was_ very attracted to him. something about the way he kissed her, though, annoyed her so much that she’d perfected the art of realistically fake-sneezing whenever he would lean in to kiss her. he had this habit of trying to ram his tongue into her mouth at all times, even in public restaurants. trixie has high standards when it comes to most things, and kissing isn’t excluded. she almost always prefers any kiss outside of penetrative sex to come sans tongue. it’s just not really romantic.

for a reason trixie doesn’t care to analyze, the first moment his tongue ever forced it’s way inside her mouth, she thinks of her and katya on _besties for cash_ two years ago. when katya asked her for a small kiss, trixie anticipated a lot of tongue and a general feeling of being brutally invaded, since katya was always talking about how horny she was and had kissed her aggressively before. apparently not.

apparently, katya had learned what trixie likes, because she’d pressed soft, close-mouthed kisses to trixie’s mouth, so gently that trixie had to chase _katya’s_ mouth, as if _she_ were the one who had begged for it. as soon as trixie had begun to feel her stomach fluttering with something that she resolutely would not call butterflies, she pulled back, opened her eyes, and saw that katya’s face was still tilted all the way to the side, her eyes still closed, and her lips still puckered, like she was waiting for another kiss. trixie had never imagined it’d be possible for katya to be so gentle with her. it made her heart stop and her throat close up. when katya came out of her dazed state, she laughed loudly, the spell broken, yet she had looked positively giddy that it’d happened, clasping trixie's hand tightly and warmly.

katya looks anything _but_ giddy as she sits on the sofa with trixie and kim, listening to them talk rapidly about trixie’s boyfriend. she wonders if she should bring up katya’s boyfriend, so katya has something to talk about too, but she wouldn’t know what to say. katya’s guy always looks like he’s mean-mugging you, is covered in tattoos, and just doesn’t seem like the type she thought katya liked. or maybe he _does_ seem like katya’s type and what _actually_ confuses trixie is that katya is able to date someone exclusively at _all_. she's determined to be happy for katya, though, who has been saying for months that she's wanted to fall in love. maybe she has. the thought fills the pit of trixie's stomach with rocks. 

* * *

this past summer, trixie had come back from provincetown after her stand-up comedy shows were over as a leaner, tanner man, and with more defined arms too. twenty-five pounds was a lot of weight to lose in one summer and trixie was damn proud of herself. it’d been months since she’d seen katya, who she viewed more as her platonic soulmate than her best friend, so, when katya invited her over, trixie was happy to go.

“you know, i’m not letting you go to sleep without me fucking your ass,” katya had said conversationally while they lounged on her sofa, acting like she was yet again making an argument in favor of crochet dresses or starring in a remake of _contact_.

trixie’s mouth had dropped into what was likely a very unattractive gape, wishing katya had chosen any other subject besides trixie’s ass. she had the distinct feeling of death itself looming over her head, ominous and life-threatening, like everything she’d so carefully spent years doing to ensure this friendship would never crack had all failed in a split second. she wondered if she really _would_ die of shock and if, at her funeral, like in her favorite film _heathers_ , her mother would come and wail, “ _i love my dead gay son!_ ”

trixie had spent the next ten minutes struggling for words, which had never been a problem of her’s, not until katya decided to hack at the breakable glass house that was their friendship with a pickaxe. she had finally awkwardly blurted, “okay, goodnight!” and stood up to go change into her pajamas in katya’s bathroom.

trixie had wondered what it would be like to sleep with katya. that night, she dreamed that katya’s bed was covered with thick, coarse blood-red faux fur that kept scratching stiffly across her skin as katya tossed in her sleep. in the dream, trixie looked up and katya’s faux googly-eyed raccoon headpiece was hanging above them like a baby’s mobile, it’s claws outstretched, reaching towards them. when she turned to look at katya, she was asleep and out of drag, but had mac’s _candy yum yum_ lipstick stains all over her mouth, chin, and neck. when trixie felt the fur blanket chafing at her legs, she looked under the covers, and saw that she was in full trixie drag, that her foundation had rubbed off onto katya’s pillow, and that one pair of her stacked lashes had come clean off her eyes and were stuck onto the strap of her blue nightie.

when trixie finally _did_ wake up, she wondered why she dreamt that she was in drag, but katya wasn’t. it seemed almost like katya was more vulnerable in the dream, with boy scruff, and bags under her eyes. trixie had felt uncomfortable while awake in katya’s bed, aware all at once that she was guarding her heart and brain around katya, so that she could never get hurt by katya. even in her dreams, she wasn’t letting katya in.

* * *

“your transformation from before you’re in drag to after you’re in drag is the _biggest_ transformation of all time,” kim chi says, “because your makeup literally changes your bone structure. like, you do medical-grade cheek implants on yourself five times a week.”

trixie smiles because she loves being flattered. “thank you!”

“i didn’t say that was a compliment,” kim chides in her patronizing, yet monotone voice, “you’re the heidi montag of drag - unrecognizable before and after.”

katya suddenly pokes her head in, face slightly damp with sweat, on intermission during the hosting gig they’ve got. “that is totally not true! i would recognize her no matter what!”

after katya has left their backstage lounge and headed back on stage, kim shakes her head. “when you were performing, what was up with her staring at you like that while she was doing a split?”

trixie shrugs, trying not to let her fingers slip into her fishnets to expel her nerves, like the way katya would sometimes do when she rested her hand on trixie’s knee while she doubled over in laughter. “she does that out of drag, too, even in her kitchen. she thinks it’s going to turn me on.” trixie grins at kim chi, who she knows will understand why that’s unlikely to happen.

trixie prefers old-school romance to exuberant, over-sexualized gymnastic routines. maybe that’s a product of being raised amongst the onslaught of romantic comedy blockbusters, or maybe it’s just her natural inclination. either way, katya pausing while making morning coffee to do a split and enthusiastically dry hump the floor, or lifting her leg straight up against her own forehead to showcase her flexibility just makes her look like a peacock doing some type of bizarre mating ritual.

“there’s more likely to be a third world war before that happens,” kim says. "no, you're more likely to have symmetrical eyebrows before that happens."

trixie is too busy looking down at her stocking-covered knees, trying to occupy her mind with other thoughts, like what would a _buffy the vampire slayer_ reboot entail, or if she could maybe get away with a red lip during her next gig, to glare at kim or insult her back. no, it'd be stupid to wear a red lip, because ditching her signature pink lip always feels like a special kind of self harm.  

“you okay?” kim asks with a small, unsuspecting smile. she probably thinks trixie just has a headache from the volume of the music when she was performing. part of trixie wants to go ahead and use that as an excuse, but she can’t lie to kim.

“yeah, it’s just - would it really be so bad?” it comes out of trixie’s mouth sounding much more shaky and uneasy than she planned. “to be in a relationship with….” trixie trails off disjointedly. “because i can’t risk our friendship just for sex.”

“you already _are_ in a relationship.”

and she is, but it was always obvious to her that her friendship with katya would outlive any boyfriend she might have. “i probably won’t always be,” trixie hedges.

kim raises her eyebrows. “well, i think at this point she would settle for being in a relationship with you that didn’t even include sex, only hugging and eskimo kisses.” kim smirks at her own joke. “are eskimos russian?”

trixie’s stomach drops, trying to digest the fact that kim has basically asked her _when are you going to let it happen_ , although not in so many words. was planning out a scenario taking place in a parallel universe where, after splitting up with her boyfriend, trixie dates katya, considered _emotional cheating_ , like those trendy articles every magazine kept publishing?

katya pokes her head back in, her skintight red catsuit making a noise like rubber when her arms brush together as she brings her hands together and claps them. “yes, there _are_ some siberian eskimos. is that all i missed?”

* * *

_a “vibrant leo”_ , katya thinks, laughing to herself, _that’s funny_. trixie is a textbook virgo - she’s a perfectionist (with makeup and in every other area of her life), conservative and traditional with love (can’t stomach the thought of being friends with benefits with anyone, never mind having one night stands), snobby and overcritical (finds fault in everyone else’s drag but her own), and she apparently does not want to believe all of those things are true.

 _oh_ , and they _are_ , but those are katya’s favorite things about trixie. realistically, _every_ thing about trixie is katya’s favorite thing about trixie, but she especially loves the high standards trixie sets in all areas of her life. when it’s if she can live up to her own exquisitely high plastic barbie fantasy makeup standards, it promotes growth.  _“she is my favorite person,"_ katya has said, _"of course, she describes herself as the most beautiful person in the world, which, i agree._ ” that’s what happens when you have impossibly high standards for yourself and never settle for anything less than perfection, it’s who trixie is. she knows she can make disparaging remarks about everyone's drag because she lives up to her _own_ impossible standards and doesn't care when people try to set different ones for her. 

katya tries vainly to bed trixie three more times after trixie gets back from p-town. so, she’s self-indulgent and addicted to trying and persevering against her own best judgement just as much as she’s addicted to being rejected and then harboring resentments and grudges about it, but she’s a taurus, what does anyone expect? it’s a vicious cycle. trixie portrays herself to be perfect despite knowing she's not, privately claiming herself to be unlovable because of her failed relationships, so katya becomes possessive of her, wanting to protect trixie from people who want to fuck her over by fucking her _herself_. then, trixie declines and runs away, and it begins again. katya has always loved being hungover in the morning and having the heir of the dog, although she can’t quite work out whether trixie is the drug itself or the hangover.

one of the times katya tries again after p-town is right before they’re going on set to film for  _unhhhh_ , with katya ducking down and trying to press kisses into trixie’s neck while backing her up against the wall of the bathroom. trixie’s wearing a pastel pink wig instead of her signature platinum blonde one, which is styled in loose, beachy waves with a hot pink headband on, and she’s wearing a sweatshirt in hot pink too, with her own cartoon face on it.

“you’re gonna get red lipstick on me and you _know_ i hate that,” trixie says without blinking, as if she fully expected katya to want to ravish her. although, it also could have been the fact that katya had told her _“i want to make out with you in the bathroom”_ when she first saw trixie walk into _world of wonder’s_ basement that had tipped trixie off. trixie had countered with _“you look like a librarian in a high school nobody wants to go to fucked mr. rogers from_  mr. rogers' neighborhood _.”_ katya had laughed to heal the pain of her continued futile attempts to seduce trixie that were quickly becoming as predictable as knowing the sun will rise and set every day, and said, _“you look like paula abdul wanted to film a jazzercise music video, but tyra banks’ barbie character from_ life size _decided to possess her body first.”_

trixie was really worrying about red lipstick staining her neck when she carried makeup wipes with her, as if they were as valuable as having a pack of matches and a lighter while lost on a deserted island? katya wants to roll her eyes. “your dad never gave me any complaints.”

“jokes on you - i don’t _have_ a dad,” trixie quips, gesturing towards her ridiculous ensemble, “obviously.”

katya drags her fingers seductively across the fastenings of her brown sweater-vest, black nails slowly unfastening the vest from the bottom up. trixie looks at katya with an unimpressed face, like she’s watching paint dry. katya quirks an eyebrow, gearing up to use her maureen voice. “if this isn’t working for you, pretty lady, i’ve got mr. rogers’ train set out back. we can use the slimy elixir of our semen and tears to give it an oil change.”

trixie glares at katya for approximately ten seconds before she bursts out in a mirror-shattering screech. “i hate you.”

“lova ya,” katya says, in trixie's privileged white girl voice, “mean it.”

* * *

they do _hey qween_ together and jonny asks them about their _will they, won’t they_ dynamic, calls them the _ross and rachel_ of drag, after saying there were _a million questions he_ didn’t _read on reddit_ , and katya shifts awkwardly in her seat, because both her and trixie have boyfriends, and trixie’s is on the sidelines, watching, and katya also doesn’t understand how you can boast about not asking invasive questions before you launch straight into one.

trixie looks like she tried to do a polished dolly parton look in her pink suede jacket with fringe, but her wig looks more like dolly parton got caught in a hurricane, and her makeup looks more like dolly parton left a colorblind six-year-old in charge of it. katya had tried for a classy and glamorous stevie nicks concept but looks more like misandrist serial killer aileen wuornos fell into the closet of a circus psychic and stumbled out wearing the entire wardrobe’s contents at once, including a magnifying glass on a chain, and wrinkly black knee-high leather boots.

for once, trixie seems comfortable leaving the floor open for katya to answer a question, and of course, it’s a question katya doesn’t particularly want to answer. their photo flashes onto the screen behind them, the one where they’re both naked, and katya is sitting on trixie’s lap with her legs around trixie’s waist. katya resolutely abstains from looking over to trixie’s boyfriend as she prepares herself mentally and spiritually to answer the question, busying herself with fanning her face with a black fan.

“do you want us to stay together and continue to do stuff together? then, the best thing is not to be in a relationship.” the longer she goes on, the more she wishes trixie would just interrupt her already. for someone who can’t go more than ten seconds without speaking over katya on _their_ show, trixie is _remarkably_ quiet. katya doesn’t especially want to know _why_ that is, because she wouldn’t want to get her hopes up, in the event trixie is perhaps too busy imagining ravishing her boyfriend after the interview to focus on katya rambling her way through her own anxiety.

* * *

“he told me i needed to spend some time away from katya, to stop living out of each other’s pockets. how am i supposed to spend time away from her when we film a show together?” trixie sits rigidly on her loveseat with one of it’s pink floral throw pillows she bought as an ironic statement in her lap, her hands picking quietly at a thread hanging off one of it’s corners. “we have a _working_ relationship,” trixie says miserly, glaring at her pillow, “he _knows_ that.”

kim looks at her with pity. “maybe it would help if katya hasn't said a hundred times that she was sexually attracted to you, and hadn't told anyone who would listen how she tried to sleep with you, like, four times. tell her to say on your show that all of those feelings are in the past."

“i can’t do _that_!” trixie wails. “it’s not my place to tell her what not to feel.”

“not what not to _feel_ ,” kim corrects, “what not to _say_ . most people who have a ‘working relationship’ wouldn’t last if one said they were in love with the other on a show that almost a _million_ people watch.”

trixie feels her face fall - this is exactly why it’s better for them to keep it professional. katya hasn’t tried to kiss her or illicit sex in at least a few months, and that has to count for _something_. “but she doesn’t act on her feelings anymore!” trixie defends katya. “we keep it professional!”

kim looks at her in utter disbelief, reaching over and punching trixie hard on her arm. kim might do so without the intention to actually hurt trixie, but she’s still a six-foot-four man under all that avant-garde and anime makeup. trixie’s body gets shoved halfway across the loveseat. “there is nothing professional about not acting on your feelings just because you’re scared of getting hurt! you’re still showing the whole world there’s something else there! why do you let katya talk about these things in public?”

“i don’t _let_ her do anything!” trixie yells, “i’m not her keeper!”

“you’re right, you don’t let her,” kim concedes, which confuses trixie. “you used to kiss her every time she asked. you _encourage_ her. you keep giving her hope. why?"

trixie gapes. “i do _not_! if i said no, she would get upset!”

“if you said no, she would get over you. why don’t you want her to get over you?” kim watches her intently.

fine, maybe some small part of her is continuously flattered by katya’s unrelenting preoccupation with her. maybe some small part of her thinks that maybe one day, when they’re old washed up nobodies and don’t get booked for anything anymore, and don’t have to work together and be professional anymore, something might finally happen.

* * *

trixie and her boyfriend split up amicably shortly after her conversation with kim. well, it’s amicable exempt from the fact that trixie continued to ignore his requests to either ditch katya for the foreseeable future, or force katya to renounce her past feelings for trixie in front of nearly a million people, until he broke up with her in the middle of an antique store, and trixie had hurled a vintage plate with a kitten on it straight at his head before she even realized she’d picked it up. needless to say, trixie has a lifetime ban there now. though, she could probably go back in full drag next time and they would have no idea she was the same man that broke a dish by throwing it at her boyfriend’s head.

she’s sure as hell not proud of herself. it reminds her of all the things her step-father used to throw at her back when she was just a teenager, and still living at home. except, her boyfriend didn’t actually get hurt, and trixie wasn’t actually psychotic, just suffering from a temporary bout of insanity.

she doesn’t tell katya they’ve broken up. that would make it _real_ and trixie doesn’t want to lose the excuse she has to keep katya’s hands at bay. even katya’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder, posing for pictures inside the cruise ship, make her feel like she’s been struck by lightning. it never used to be like this. katya touching her before, whether it was her knee or even her ass on stage, it felt harmless. that’s because then it _was_ harmless for trixie. she still maintained then that it would take a natural disaster or a near-death experience to convince trixie that the timing was right. now that the timing finally feels _right_ to trixie, because she can’t stop thinking _would it really be so bad to act on it?_ , it’s all harmless fun to katya.

“i’m so glad you’re here,” katya says, lounging on her full-sized bed, “and _performing_ instead of just being in the audience!”

last year on the ship, trixie had come as a guest, not as part of the talent, and wasn’t even asked to participate in any of the _rocky horror_ numbers, which had seemed a little unfair considering her history with it. trixie has to leave katya’s room somewhere between staring at katya’s toned arms, while katya lays there shirtless with her happy trail unshaved, and realizing that she’s going to have to avoid spending quality alone time with katya, so she doesn’t do something stupid, like put katya’s relationship at risk, just because her’s is over.

when trixie’s boyfriend had asked her to spend some time away from katya, trixie hadn’t obliged. now that he's out of the picture, trixie has to avoid katya, anyway, so she can keep her head on straight. the irony is not lost on her.

trixie tells katya not to accompany her to the cocktail lounge because she would feel bad drinking in katya’s company, but she actually can’t stand to be in katya’s presence for one more moment without blurting, _“i’m single now, let’s date!”_ or worse, _“why’d you stop asking me to kiss you all the time?”_ , when she already knows the answer to that.

“is that a virgin martini?” trixie asks alaska, a small smile spreading over her face as she spots alaska and takes the bar stool beside her.

“girl, _fuck_ no.” alaska snorts. her mouth is so huge that when she speaks, all trixie can see is the talking horse from _mister ed_ , the one that all the directors fed peanut butter all day to get it to open and close it’s mouth on cue. “what do you take me for?”

“oh, right,” trixie says, rolling her eyes. “you got a hundred problems and drinkin’ ain’t one. you tried to quit drinkin’, but it’s too much fun.”

“amen.” alaska takes a sip from her glass with one pinkie out. when she catches trixie looking, she grins. “a reigning queen must be well-mannered.”

trixie laughs and orders a long island ice tea.

“what, no moscow mule for you?” alaska smirks, sticking her pinky into her glass and swirling it around to stir her drink. when trixie wrinkles her eyebrows together in confusion, alaska sighs. “as in, moscow, _russia_.” she gives trixie a knowing look. “or, are you and your boy still together?”

“no, we are not,” trixie says, ignoring the insinuation and replying to alaska’s martini glass, instead of her. “he wouldn’t buy me the vintage dish with a cat on it that i wanted, so i threw it at his head.”

alaska looks impressed, like she would never expect that from trixie. she and sharon probably have done much worse to one another in the past. “really?” alaska croaks out slowly.

“no. it was, like, the tenth time i said _no_ when he asked me to make katya go on record saying she doesn't have feelings for me anymore.” trixie glares at alaska’s martini. “i _did_ throw the dish at his head, though.” trixie’s long island ice tea finally arrives and she takes one very long sip of it gratefully.

alaska looks at trixie carefully. “any good?” she tips her head in the direction of trixie’s drink.

trixie shrugs, not understanding why alaska cares about this more than trixie’s problems. “it’s alright.”

alaska gets off her bar stool rather gracelessly, like a baby colt who’d just been born, and still didn’t know how to stand. trixie suspects she’s a little tipsy. who knows how many drinks she’d had before trixie had come. “you should try the moscow mule,” alaska suggests, leaving a ten dollar tip on the bar counter, “i think you’d like it.”

with that obvious and tactless, yet completely brilliant metaphor, alaska has left both the cocktail lounge _and_ trixie with a generous tip.

* * *

trixie is on right after alaska, who opens the show with a live performance of several songs from her most recent album, and who brings gia gunn on stage as a surprise guest. after trixie comes jinkx, then courtney, and katya will close the show. after alaska spends her entire set hyping up the audience, trixie has to come out and deal with a rowdy crowd, who she imagines probably will not be in the mood for her self-deprecating jokes and mellow acoustic comedy songs.

she imagines wrong. the audience is unbelievably attuned to her specific sense of humor thanks to the success of the web-show and _every_ joke lands. sometimes she forgets about the level of dedication of the people who belong to their niche, like when it’s just her and katya in front of a green screen in a basement, or when trixie is in boy clothes at the airport and doesn’t get recognized. there are two extremes and nothing in-between - either trixie is completely anonymous out of drag and the hot guy at the bar won’t take her drink order or she’s being completely swarmed by thousands of adoring fans, all wearing her merch, and asking for pictures. she likes retaining some of that normalcy, while still having all the perks if she wants.  

going backstage, trixie slings her acoustic guitar back over chest and joins a few of the other queens on the sofa that two of the managers had carried down from one of the lounges. trixie knows she could theoretically kick off her heels or take her wig off, but she prefers to keep the illusion intact, especially when pictures and videos are being taken by alaska, who seems to be running around interviewing people for _after show_.

katya, though, she’s another story. trixie snorts as she sees the way katya is still only half in drag, with black fishnets on, but no shoes. the bright red zip-up sweater she wears constantly out of drag, that reads _russian_ in all capitals across the front covers a bright red latex bodysuit, which is unzipped a generous amount to reveal katya’s extremely flat chest. when katya stretches out her long legs, trixie discerns that katya still has the meatiest tuck in the business. when katya swings one leg over the other and her wildly curly honey-blonde hair shines under the fluorescents as she shifts in her seat, the illusion has returned.

“do you think i should switch bathing suits for the meet and greet?” trixie asks. “i brought the red one with the white polka dots too.” she looks down at her own flesh-toned pantyhose and fifties pin-up style black bathing suit with white polka dots, feeling proud of her body. “today, i used a pink _sugarpill_ glitter pigment instead of a pink _mac_ one. i’m showing the judges versatility.”

katya seems to ignore her completely, which isn’t like her at all. “trixie, may i ask you a question?”

“yes, i _do_ know i’m the greatest musician that ever lived.” trixie finally lifts her gibson up and over her head, getting the strap caught in her wig. “a little help?”

“why didn’t you tell me?” katya asks softly, so nobody will hear their conversation, reaching up to detach the strap from trixie’s wig.

“that yellow isn’t your color and you never should have worn that crochet dress in public?”

“it was the _ugliest dress runway_!” she defends. “why didn’t you tell me that you and your boyfriend split-up?”

trixie feels the muscles in her stomach clench and it’s not just from how tight she’s cinched and how tight her bathing suit is. “never came up,” she says finally, wanting the conversation to be over before it’s even begun.

jinkx walks past them on her way to the stage, flurrying a stack of meet and greet itineraries on a nearby table with the breeze she creates. trixie looks up and she could have sworn courtney and alaska had left their places on the couch to check their makeup by a nearby mirror backstage, only now both of them are nowhere to be found. she wonders if alaska had asked courtney to interview her someplace more quiet, away from the stage and the cheering, or if they’d left because they could sense the serious tone to katya’s voice. she prefers the former scenario, but realistically believes it was the latter.

“ _never came up_?” katya asks, looking angry. katya never, ever gets angry with her. it’s not that she’s never seen katya angry before, she’s just never seen katya angry at _her_. usually if she interrupts katya one too many times or calls something she was wearing ugly and hurts her feelings, she just looks up from under her stacked lashes and blue contacts and flutters her eyes until katya relents. trixie doesn’t think that’s going to work this time. “last week i facetimed you and you hung up on me because of an incoming call from _him_.”

“well, i lied. it was kim.”

katya’s eyes narrow. “ _trixie_.”

“does it _matter_?” trixie asks. it shouldn’t matter to katya. katya has a boyfriend, anyway. when katya wanted her, trixie didn’t want her back. now that trixie wants her, katya has stopped asking trixie to kiss her.

“of course it matters!” katya yells, sounding hurt. “we tell each other everything, don’t we? if he hurt you, i would want to know. you shouldn’t have to keep it all inside.”

trixie sighs impatiently. “he didn’t hurt me - i hurt _him_. i threw a plate at his head because he wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“ _what_?” katya squawks. “i thought things were going good between you two.”

“i never should have judged your view on relationships. your strategies clearly work better than mine, considering you’re still in a relationship, and i’m not.”

“what strategies?” katya asks. “me saying not to get too invested in people? trixie, don’t listen to me! i don’t even know what i’m saying half the time!” she looks guilty, like she thinks somewhere along the line she must have given trixie bad advice and that’s the reason her and her boyfriend split. “investing in people is good! if he wants you to invest more, you should.”

“he doesn’t want to _invest_ in me anymore, because i’m too _invested_ in you!” trixie is aware she’s whining, but goddammit, she deserves to whine about this. the crowd erupts into laughter as jinkx entertains them with a joke and trixie feels her stomach drop when she realizes courtney has been standing awkwardly by the stage, for god only knows how long. she makes eye contact with courtney, who gives her a concerned look. oh, great. now she understands why people on reddit are calling her and katya the _ross and rachel_ of drag. she’s probably _rachel_ , the girl who gets dumped nearly every episode, who everyone else has to baby and comfort.

katya seemed unbothered that courtney has been their one-woman audience to their drag rendition of a lover’s quarrel. “well, you can’t possibly be more invested in _me_ than i am in _you_ , and if i haven’t gotten dumped yet, or thrown a plate at anyone’s head, then there’s hope for you yet.”

trixie gapes. “is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asks, insulted. why is katya throwing her relationship in her face?

katya looks mystified. “is it _not_? now you don’t have to hear me talking about how obsessed with you i am.”

trixie’s mouth drops again, her back straightening as she gets the urge to jump off the sofa and walk out of the room. “oh my _god_! you think i’m a heartless asshole! he literally dumped me because i wouldn’t stop hanging out with you!”

at this, courtney finally seems unable to continue bearing witness to their argument. “i’m just going to go on a little early, i’m sure jinkx won’t mind,” she calls out to them before shaking her short, wavy blonde bob out, a _wigs by vanity_ creation no doubt, and ducks out onto stage, to a surprised roar of applause. when michelle hears how much she and katya have fucked up the show without even having to step foot on stage, trixie is going to have to go into witness protection under her _tallulah maraschino_ alias.

“well, that was his first mistake,” katya says, huffing. “my boyfriend knows better than to ask me that.”

trixie feels a headache coming on, so she sinks back into the sofa defeatedly. “i guess you found a good guy.” she lets her head sink into the back of the sofa, trying not to sound disingenuous.

“oh, god no.” katya snorts. “he’s not a good guy. no _good guy_ would date this.” she gestures down her own body and gives trixie a lighthearted, knowing smile, like trixie will agree, but she doesn’t. katya is gorgeous. it hurts her that katya doesn’t always believe that. after all she’s been through and survived through, she deserves someone who truly supports her. sometimes, if trixie can’t help it, she stops and wishes that she could be that person. “and he doesn’t expect much, either. he knows i’m emotionally unavailable.”

“why are you not emotionally available?” trixie asks.

“you know why, bitch,” katya says. she slumps further into the sofa, like the conversation has exhausted her. her head rests on the back of the sofa, her eyes meeting trixie’s. she looks at her so obtrusively that trixie feels like she’s been caught red-handed. “i got into a relationship because i was lonely.” trixie wonders if katya is implying she’s only with her boyfriend because trixie kept rejecting her. she feels guilty for doing that and stupid for ignoring what was right in front of her.

“do you believe in emotional cheating?” trixie asks, directing her eye contact to katya’s hands, and she isn’t wearing acrylics. something about the way her drag veers more and more into that of a _real_ woman and less into a _caricature_ of one is charming, quaint, admirable. she loves that about katya, even if her own drag aesthetic is the opposite -  campy, kitschy, and over the top.

“i do,” katya nods, “but i have an open relationship, so i can’t emotionally cheat.”

trixie wrinkles her eyebrows in confusion, not knowing whether to be annoyed that katya never mentioned it, or angry with herself for being right about the fact that katya really _couldn't_ be monogamous, so she settles on feeling both. “why bother to be in a relationship, then? you kept saying you wanted to find love.”

it’s not often that _katya_ is the one looking at her like trixie is being harebrained, or not grasping the big picture. usually it’s katya who scrambles and fails to find sense in the realm of the unsensible - yoga, meditation, astrology - and trixie who looks at her like she’s insane. this time, katya’s eyes pierce through trixie’s, and trixie feels like _she’s_ the one left struggling to understand. “i had already found love.”

oh, fuck. the quick-witted and inappropriately-timed part of her brain shouts _because, honey, who you love...isn’t always your boyfriend_ , but she wisely chooses not to say that. she knows katya loves her and she knows that katya has said she’s _in_ love with her. _that’s_ not a revelation, but what _is_ is the way her heart speeds up this time. katya is her rock. she used to think they wouldn’t survive if they ever tried _this_ and broke up, but now she thinks that they would, unequivocally. trixie just keeps staring back at katya, her head pillowing further into the back of the sofa as she inclines her face closer to katya’s. trixie watches as katya gulps.

“can i have a small kiss?” katya asks, her eyes searching trixie’s face for signs of rejection. trixie wishes she didn’t have any to show.

“i can’t share you,” trixie says, feeling her throat close up and her eyes starting to blur with nervous tears. she shouldn’t have given off signals to katya and made her think that trixie would be okay with just being katya's side hoe. she pulls her head slowly back. this was a bad idea.

katya’s hand gently tugs over trixie’s chin so trixie faces her again, her voice soft as she promises, “you wouldn’t be.”

“but you’re seeing-”

“i don’t have to be,” katya says, like trixie is asking her to water her plants while she’s out of town, not asking katya to break up with her boyfriend for her. katya watches as trixie’s huge eyes widen even further, the glitter that’s glued under her bottom lashes sparkling as her head pulls back from katya’s hand in shock. “ _trixie_ ,” katya stresses, sighing heavily and scooting closer to her. she acts like she was dead serious every time she said trixie was her favorite person in her life, because maybe she was, “ _trixie_ ,” katya repeats, “tracy, sweetie, it’s _you_.” she says it like it should be obvious that she would do anything trixie asked.

trixie lays her head back against the couch, feeling overwhelmed. she feels katya’s hand back on her chin. normally when anyone touches her, she feels uncomfortable, and she flinches. she hates unwarranted physical contact. when katya touches her, she feels perfectly safe. katya keeps brushing over trixie’s bottom lip with her thumb and trixie’s body goes tense, and she inhales and exhales deeply, nervous. she watches katya’s red lips coming closer to her with her own doll-like and half-lidded eyes.

katya’s lips press against her’s, and she’s not thinking about getting red lipstick all over her mouth, or katya’s beard scratching her. she’s thinking about katya’s hand resting on her neck and her lips moving to kiss the corner of her mouth. she’s thinking about katya’s other hand, resting on her thigh and the quiet, happy humming noises katya is making. it’s the first time she’s ever kissed katya back with a sense of purpose, not just to humor katya, but because she really _wants_ to. trixie kisses her and kisses her and kisses her until katya starts laughing. she drops her face down to trixie’s neck, laughs into it, hot breath on trixie’s neck, and kisses it with an open mouth, and just a hint of tongue. trixie grabs for katya’s hand that is still on her thigh and entwines their fingers, squeezing katya’s hand to convey that she’s happy too.

katya pulls back and laughs at her. “i’m trying to hit third base,” she clarifies, her hand moving from trixie’s thigh steadily higher, “and you’re trying to hold my hand.” trixie rolls her eyes, grabbing for katya’s hand again, nevertheless. “what the hell turns you on?” katya asks. “do i have to learn how to do a back handspring? i’ll do it, but it’s not going to be easy.”

“please don’t, girl,” a voice chuckles heartily from the back of the room, “i don’t think there are any paramedics on this boat.” alaska smirks, jouncing her eyebrows up and down at trixie, who looks mortified, and katya, who looks immensely proud of herself. alaska takes a sip from a copper mug with a lime wedge split open on the rim. “why didn’t you wanna do your _titanic_ routine?”

katya frowns and looks at trixie. “ _dammit_! should i have?”

“no, you don’t want james cameron to send you a cease and desist. get it, _sea-ce_ and desist?” trixie jokes, laughing loudly.

katya begins to wrack with silent laughter, her hand unclasping from trixie's hand to move to grasp trixie’s knee tightly. “shut your mouth!”  

courtney and jinkx exit the stage together, jinkx immediately taking a seat on the sofa beside trixie and katya, and courtney awkwardly walking over to alaska and smiling at trixie, like she thinks trixie and katya might still be in the middle of an argument. trixie returns the smile and watches as katya pulls on a pair of chunky black heels and heads over to the mirror to check her lipstick, which seems to have survived against all odds. trixie discreetly adjusts her long, wavy wig as to cover her neck, in case katya left any lipstick smudges behind.

“katya, you’re on!” courtney yells. trixie can’t take courtney’s tone seriously because her adorable accent, perky nose, and tiny physique all simultaneously scream _tinkerbell fairy fantasy_ and _suburban step-mother who lets the kids have wine at dinner._ trixie wonders if alaska will tell courtney what she walked in on before katya does her first slow split on stage, or after. drag queens have no mercy. “michelle is going to kill you!” courtney adds for dramatic effect. that seems to do the trick, and katya has left in a flash of red latex and bouncy blonde curls.

trixie sighs and looks back to alaska, who simply takes another sip from her drink, and then grins. “moscow mule, anyone?” she asks smugly, while holding out her mug.

**Author's Note:**

> virgotrixie.tumblr.com


End file.
